


The Problem

by Kittenfightclub



Category: The Machinist (2004)
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, but i also don't know what it was supposed to be, me making up stupid things bc honestly wtf even is ivan, ooh this wasn't supposed to be sad, so this is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenfightclub/pseuds/Kittenfightclub
Summary: The problem with being a ghost, or semi-consciousness, or whatever the fuck Ivan is, is that… he’s always alone.No lovely women or men, no kittens or puppies, but he had a nice pile of pillows in the corner, and some days that was enough.





	The Problem

The problem with being a ghost, or semi-consciousness, or whatever the fuck Ivan is, is that… he’s always alone. It’s not like anyone could see him- other than Trevor anyways, and honestly, did that fuck even deserve his attention?   
(Sometimes he felt bad for the guy, sure. He was as skinny as roadkill- a possum that was run-over once, then again, then again, till its guts were splayed out and it’s body was as flat as a pancake…)   
  
Sometimes Ivan regretted this fact, being alone, but for the most part, he had become accustomed to it. He is alone, he was pretty-much-alone, and he always will be alone. Other times, as one will, he became lonely.   
  
.   
  
Affecting other people’s lives, normal people’s lives, assuaged this, but only for a little while. When he got that one idiot’s hand chopped off, that fixed him right up for quite a while… but sooner or later, he would need more.    
This was something that Ivan knew, something that chilled him to the bone (assuming that semi-consciousnesses  _ have  _ bones which means assuming semi-consciousnesses have natural bodies at all).   
  
.   
  
Trevor coming to terms with his guilt was something that Ivan had expected, it was even something that he had provoked, shovelling at the buried memories until, finally, Trevor broke some mental barrier and found the monstrous truth inside.    
The problem with this fact, which in all other aspects should be considered a success, is that Ivan no longer maintained any influence over the outside world. No one could see him anymore, not even Trevor, and no one ever would again.   
  
Maintaining influence over himself had no effect; Ivan had learned that with his thumbs (He had been lonely  _ before _ Trevor too), so there was no purpose for self mutilation, as interesting as the idea sounded. It would help with the boredom, but not the loneliness. And it was the loneliness that had Trevor’s heart (again, if he even had a heart) crumpled up into a measly little ball.   
  
.   
  
Trevor’s mind was like a room, a prison cell. Ivan found himself trapped in the same way that Trevor was. It was hardly fair!    
_ I didn’t do anything wrong, it was skinny-fuck who splattered the kid, not me… _ __   
Ivan could no longer see Trevor, but he felt his emotions like electric shocks (sharp twinges of fear, sadness, arousal)- but, most of the time the man was resigned and emotionless. Trevor didn’t mind it; he didn’t mind that at all.   
  
What Ivan had that Trevor did not was freedom. Sure, he couldn’t leave the cell, but he could figure up just about anything he pleased… anything abiotic at least. No lovely women or men, no kittens or puppies, but he had a nice pile of pillows in the corner, and some days that was enough.   
  
This was where he was now, covered in a blanket, holding one of the pillows in his arms, and sobbing like a child. This is what loneliness does to a man. Days, months, years,  _ fuck who even knew how long it had been  _ of loneliness. On this day, the pillows weren’t enough.   
  
.   
  
Back on Earth, knives had been something that Ivan found comforting. He looked like a bad-ass, and… it just felt  _ good  _ to hold something that could kill. Here, he began to feel the same way. He wondered what would happen if he died.   
Would he wake up, still here?   
Would he move on…   
Cease to exist?   
__ Could he even die?   
He had died once, surely he could do it again.   
Maybe there would be others… where he went when he died. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> oh? bullshit?  
> this is choppy but i just started writing it and didn't look back :P


End file.
